


That Which Submits

by Arsenic



Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alternate Universe - Slavery, Angst, Background Relationships, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-09-14
Updated: 2007-09-14
Packaged: 2020-11-28 15:33:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20968868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arsenic/pseuds/Arsenic
Summary: Slavery AU





	That Which Submits

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Neery](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neery/gifts).

> Written for Neery in the Mikey AU Meme

_"That which submits is not always weak." -Jacqueline Carey, "Kushiel's Dart"_

At first, the new house seemed like fairly good luck. The kitchen and housekeeping staff weren't prone to abusiveness like the previous one, and there were no teenage owners intent upon working out early adolescent sexual frustration on Mikey,willing or no. It was certainly better than the market pens, where the slaves were left to all but feed on each _other_, where food went to the quickest and strongest, and violence was all but unavoidable. Most importantly, Mikey and Gerard had managed to be bought together once again, as they had in both instances of being sold since their seizure by the state at the event of their parents deaths in settlement for said parents' debts.

Additionally, this house, this kitchen, had a Frank, which made Gerard smile the way Mikey hadn't much seen him do in quite a while. Frank was small but ridiculously industrious, and he laughed a lot, even when there didn't seem to be much reason. He took a liking to Mikey and Gerard immediately, helped them know all the ropes right from the start. So things were fine, perhaps even good, until the day their owner caught Gerard singing as he cleaned one of the upstairs bathrooms, and found himself fancying Gerard. It wasn't as though that sort of thing was unusual, and at first Gerard just sort of shrugged the compelled liaisons off, particularly seeing as Frank didn't make a big deal of it at all, acted like it didn't matter, acted like Gerard was still his and only his.

Then the owners figured out how very expressive Gerard was, how he could never hide his emotions. They were, as it turned out, the kind of people who liked to induce whimpers, moans of fear, pleas for release. It would have been okay, Mikey thought, it would have been--he and Frank were still able to clean Gerard up, get him to sing again, if softly. It would have been okay, except that the owners caught Frank and Gerard kissing in the shed by the garden, the one they _never_ went in. Mikey imagined someone had to have tattled. He didn't know who, but it didn't matter. What mattered was that they spent a night torturing Frank for the fun of watching Gerard try to appease them, and as a denouement to the punishment, in the morning--after they were sure Mikey had seen the wreck of his brother and the nearest thing he'd ever had to a best friend--they sent Mikey to the marketplace to be sold off.

*

Mikey was stronger than he looked. He'd been cleaning kitchens and entry halls and bedrooms and bathrooms and anything else that needed cleaning since he was twelve. He'd also been doing just about anything else that needed doing around a house: handy work, cooking. He was a house slave, and with that came the need to have a fair set of skills, some of which required brute strength. With Gerard and him, the market had always been terrifying but negotiable. Now, though, now Mikey was frantic with the need to be back with Gerard, panicked at the idea of being sold on his own.

The only positive to the situation was that they moved him out quickly. Two days of being too distracted to even bother fighting for food, to do much else than curl into a ball and try and make himself as unnoticeable as possible and they had him up for sale. Mikey was young and considered pretty, and if he came by himself, they could put him on the block naked and tout him as having all kinds of skills in addition to his looks. It was cold on the block, freezing. Winter had come early and the block was elevated, nothing surrounding it to keep the wind from cutting right through Mikey. He tried crossing his arms over his chest if only to keep warm and felt the immediate crack of the whip at this shoulder. Mikey settled for clenching and unclenching his fists at his side. It was hard to breath through the sharpness of the cold, the depth of his fear. He couldn't really pay attention to the words of the auctioneer, the responses from the crowd. He knew he should, it was important. He just couldn't.

His legs were too cold to really work for him when they pulled him from the platform and he went sprawling, catching himself with his hands, his knees. It should have hurt, he thought. He couldn't feel much, not really. He was yanked to his feet and he could hear people shouting at him but it just wasn't registering. Someone said something in a quiet voice and the shouting stopped. A blanket fell around Mikey's shoulders, rough and woolen but warmer than nothing. Mikey clutched at it instinctively. There was more pushing at him, although this time not as rough, if every bit as insistent. Mikey went where they pushed him. It didn't matter, Gerard was neither here nor where Mikey was going. Direction was irrelevant.

After a bit Mikey was ushered into a car, a car with heat and a clean, carpeted floor--heaven after the biting rocks of the sale grounds. There was a man sitting across from him, maybe his owner, maybe a representative. The man had blond hair falling in a sharp cut over one eye. The eye that Mikey could see was cool, observant. The man asked, "What's your name?"

_MikeyGerard. Wait, no. No._ Mikey said, "Way."

The eye was still for a moment, and then it blinked. "Okay. Way. Way."

*

The blond guy ushered Mikey out of the car and into a house that was also--thankfully--warm. Someone called out, "Success?" and the man responded, "Yes," no elaboration. They met up with a second man, this one defined by the mass of red hair swirling and curling about his head. He took one look at Mikey and said, "Bob, I said a house slave."

Mikey could hear the way the man behind him--Bob, evidently--sounded mildly abashed. "He is, they said he is."

Hair looked pretty doubtful, but Mikey didn't care. They could think whatever the fuck they wanted about him. Hair softened after a minute and said, "He looks mostly dead."

"Yeah, I was gonna show him his room."

Hair stepped aside and Bob put his hand to Mikey's back, said, "C'mon," softly. Mikey went; there was no point in putting up a stand. Bob lead him to a room that was small, but much bigger than the corners or cots Mikey had always been given before. Bob said, "There's a bathroom to the right. It has some stuff in it, and if you want to shower, I have some stuff I think might fit you, at least for now, until we can get you some clothes your size. The kitchen is on the first floor, a little left of where we came in, you're free to get whatever you want from there. Uh... If you want to nap, maybe, for a little, that's, that's good, too."

_First time owner_, Mikey's brain supplied. He wondered if the sort of eagerness to appear human could be used to his advantage, that perhaps, were he a good enough slave, pleasing enough, would this Bob be willing to do things for him. Bob was talking again, asking, "Um, you can...you actually can cook and clean and garden and that sort of thing, right? I mean, I can get you help, if you need it, but Ray's going to be totally pissed at me if all you can do is, uh--"

"I'm a fully trained house slave, Master," Mikey said.

Bob looked like Mikey had just told him he'd won some sort of prize. "Oh, that's good, that's really-- That's good."

"Where would you like me to start, Master?"

"Could you-- I really prefer Bob."

Mikey nodded, nothing more than a slight dip of his head. "How best may I serve you, Bob?"

"Maybe just get yourself cleaned up first? Sleep some? Then you can look at the house, see what needs-- Look, I inherited all this from an aunt I didn't even know I had, I guess her and my father had a falling out, and this was sort of fuck you to my dad, but I was never close-- The point is, I haven't a clue what to do with all this space, I'm crap at taking care of it, and Ray said the only thing for it was to get a house slave, so just-- I don't want the house falling down around my ears. And I, um, if you cook, I'd love-- Um, you can order any groceries you need and all that, whatever you--" Bob made a vague gesture with his hands.

Mikey said, "It will be taken care of, the house and the meals."

"Do you need, um, help?"

_Gerard and Frank._ Not yet, though. Mikey couldn't be asking Bob to approach another owner about purchase just yet. "I will determine what I need as I go." Mikey kept his head respectfully inclined.

Bob tilted Mikey's chin up with two fingers. Mikey looked in his eyes and thought that food and cleaning solutions might not be his only forms of persuasion in this instance.

*

It took a full week to get the house really cleaned up. Mikey worked pretty much non-stop. Sleep was only good for nightmares about Gerard and Frank, and he didn't really have an appetite. Sometimes he could get himself to snack as he made meals for Bob, but that was about the extent of it. Occasionally, as he was serving Bob his food or if the two of them met in a hallway, Bob would throw concerned looks his direction, but he didn't ask, so Mikey didn't have to make up excuses. When he was finished whipping the house into shape, Mikey laid into the garden. It was too late in the year to plant, but he worked dedicatedly at stripping the weeds, cleaning it up for the next spring. The outdoor work actually tired him enough that he fell asleep early that night.

He woke to his own screams and the hopes that they hadn't woken Bob. He got up and worked to put together an all-stops pulled breakfast for Bob, then showered. He left his clothes off and went to put the second part of his plan into action, the part where he made Bob really, really attached to Mikey's mouth and ass. Mikey wasn't entirely sure about this part--Bob seemed like the kind of guy who could get what he wanted, when he wanted it. He was, to all evidences, a fairly nice guy, decently intelligent and sort of unfairly good looking. And he was clearly set in the finances department. Still, Mikey had to try. He'd seen Bob looking, so it wasn't likely to fail horribly, if nothing else.

He knocked lightly on the door--Bob was always up by this time, but it was no good taking the chance that somehow this morning was different--and Bob asked, "Way? Come in."

Mikey slunk in the door as seductively as he could. The only real sexual experience Mikey had was from when he'd been fourteen and the unwilling recipient of his seventeen-year old master's somewhat aggressive, often violent affections. He had gotten from Gerard and Frank that sex was possibly more than that, but Mikey sort of doubted that was true for him. Still, this was Gerard, so Bob could hurt Mikey as much as he wanted, so long as it made him happy enough to listen at the end. Mikey slipped to the bed and lisped a soft, "Good morning," while peeling the covers back.

Bob's hair was thrown back from his face in a messy tangle, and Mikey watched both eyes widen with interest and something else, just before Bob scrambled away, said, "Um, hi, good morning, did you need something?"

Mikey trembled for a second at the thought that this was a misstep, that he had misread, that Bob was straight or had someone else. Then he caught Bob trying not to look at his unclothed state and said, also softly, "You didn't buy a house slave from that block."

Bob closed his eyes and swallowed and just as Mikey was about to move forward again Bob said, "I did. I did. You were freezing up there, is all. You didn't even have any body fat helping you out."

The kindness in the statement threw Mikey. His feet felt unsure beneath his legs. Bob opened his eyes. "Get dressed, Way. Is there breakfast?"

Mikey nodded. "Apple pancakes."

Bob asked, "You sleep at all after the nightmare?"

"I-- I'm sorry I woke you, mas-- I'm sorry."

Bob looked at him for a long moment. "Do you even like apple pancakes?"

Mikey preferred buttermilk, or cinnamon. He wasn't sure how to answer. He was tired, so tired, and he didn't want to lie, but it wasn't his place to talk about his wants, not even his needs. _GerardGerardGerard_. After a while of Mikey standing there, trying to figure out something to say, Bob said, "All right. I'll be down in a minute."

It was clearly a dismissal. Mikey went.

*

Mikey fell asleep in the kitchen three nights later and awoke once again to his own screaming and the hands of someone else. He panicked, flailed, and it was only when he heard the smack of his hand against flesh that reality returned to him and he barely made it to the sink before vomiting, trying to apologize the entire time. When he was finished he ran the sink, tried to think clearly about where the cleaning supplies were--he'd used them just that morning. He said, "Sorry, sorry, sorry," couldn't stop saying it, really, so it took him a while to understand that Bob was saying his name, sort of.

"Way, Way. Way."

Mikey looked at him. Bob reached over and flicked the disposal off, shut the water down. They had done their job. He asked, "Who's Gerard?"

For a second Mikey thought he was going to puke again. He made himself breath. "Nobody, nobody."

"Way, you scream for him. You--"

Mikey said, "Oh, shit," as the smell of something burning hit his nose, bringing the nausea forcefully back to the forefront. He ran to the oven, turned it off, but sure enough the cookies were burning, past burnt and he said, "Sorry, sorry, so so--"

"Way!" Bob snapped it. Mikey stilled himself wholly. Sometimes if the target wasn't moving, the desire to catch it lessened. Bob softened his tone. "I don't care about the cookies. If you want you can teach me how to make them and I can make more. I care about who this Gerard is that you're so scared of or about or-- I don't know. Scared."

Mikey turned the oven off and brought his hands up to his shoulders, his arms crossed over his chest. Softly, he admitted, "My brother."

"Your-- Are you both-- Oh fuck. They sold you away from your _brother_?"

Mikey bit the inside of his cheek and stayed silent. The only other option was crying, and he wouldn't. He wouldn't.

"Way, Jesus--"

"Mikey," the word broke from him, the need to hear somebody say his name with a little kindness desperate, unabating.

"I'm-- Oh, is that your name?"

Mikey nodded. "Sorry. I-- Sorry."

"Mikey." Bob tried the name out, like he was worried it might not fit. Then, "Mikey," like a secret between friends and Mikey said, "I-- He's probably dead. He--" He dry heaved for a bit, Bob's hand warm and careful at his back.

Bob asked, "Where is he, Mikey, do you know?"

Mikey mumbled the words he'd kept so safe, spilled the climax to all his plans. When he'd said the name of the house he begged, "Please, please don't take him away from Frank. Please. I'll-- I don't know what you want, I don't know, but you can have it, just, please, he needs--"

"Frank is another slave?"

Mikey nodded. Bob said, "Okay, Mikey. Okay," and kept his hand at Mikey's back until his breathing was more than just rasps and choked off attempts for air.

*

Ray came over while Mikey was putting together another batch of cookies, just to have something to do with his hands. When Bob had explained the situation, Ray asked Mikey, "How willing are they going to be to part with your brother and his partner?"

Mikey tore into the batter with the wooden spoon and Ray said, "Yeah, okay."

Bob stayed up with him, waiting for each batch to come out. He ate one fresh out of the oven and held one out to Mikey. "They're really good."

Mikey shook his head. He was pretty sure taking a bite would just end up causing more clean up for him. At eight, Bob brushed his teeth, took a shower, dressed more respectably than he generally did to go to work and left the house with Ray.

When they came back, they had Gerard and Frank.

*

Frank was limping and Gerard had bruises that peeked out from the collar of his shirt, crawled up over his face. They were both skin stretched over bones, spread so tight it was nearly see-through. Mikey said, "Gee, Gee, Gee," and pulled Gerard to him, trying to be careful, but Gerard just clung, careless of his own injuries. He said, "Mikey. Mikey."

When Mikey managed to get himself to let go of Gerard he hugged Frank, who winced at the touch, but also curled into it. He asked, "How you doing, Mikeyway?" like nothing had changed, no time had passed.

Mikey showed them to the shower and left them to it, heated up food and cajoled them until they ate a little. He put them to bed and then repeated the cycle over and over throughout the next three days, breaking it only when Bob brought in a doctor to see them, see if she could fix up the worst of the damage. This was in between taking care of the house, the garden, and making meals. On the third night, Bob found him in the laundry room, changing the loads over and said, "Here, let me help."

"No, no," Mikey said, because he didn't know what Bob had done to get Gerard and Frank, didn't know what kind of price he'd been willing to pay, but he was sure it had been exorbitant and Bob didn't ask anything of him, not really. Keeping a house clean and food on the table wasn't exactly equivalent to what Mikey was sure he owed.

Bob, though, Bob gently pulled the sheets Mikey was throwing into the dryer from him, finished the transaction. He closed the door to the washer and said, "Mikey, you can sleep now. They're safe."

Mikey nodded. "I will." He totally planned to, it was definitely on his list.

"Come with me," Bob said. Mikey thought about mentioning all the laundry left to do, and the way the upstairs bathroom really needed a scrubbing and he wanted to cut some fruit for Bob's breakfast, but Bob was actually his master, and a command was a command. Mikey followed Bob up to his room, where Bob shut the door and crawled into bed and said, "Here, Mikeyway."

Mikey blinked at the use of his full name, the way it seemed to allow him a personhood. Free men had two names. Mikey asked, "You want me to--" and tugged at the hem of his shirt.

"No," Bob said.

"Um, okay." Mikey slid into the bed.

Bob said, "Sleep. Don't make me make it an order. Please. Just sleep."

Mikey thought of all the things that needed doing, the way he wanted to check on Frank and Gerard, and somewhere in the middle of those thoughts, he followed Bob's not-order without even meaning to.

*

Mikey woke facing Gerard. Gerard said, "Good morning," and sounded, for the first time since he'd come, like he knew what the words meant.

Mikey said, "I'm sorry, I was trying-- I didn't know-- I was so scared--" He bit his lip. "Sorry I didn't get you sooner."

Gerard shook his head. "You got us. We're safe."

"Gee--"

"I was scared they sold you as a bedslave."

"They tried. Bob was worried about me being cold."

"Do you-- You seem like maybe--" Gerard sighed. "He's nice."

"I don't think he wants me," Mikey admitted, feeling a little small. It was the best that Gerard had Frank, especially now that nobody would hurt them to scare or harm the other one, but it was hard being the third wheel, when for so long Gerard had been his only thing in the world and Mikey had been Gerard's only thing right back.

"Oh," Gerard said, "well, that's because you're sometimes silly, Mikey."

Mikey laughed a little. "I missed you."

Gerard opened his arms, and Mikey snuggled into them. Gerard said, "I could sing. Quietly. If you wanted."

Mikey said, "No. When you're ready. Really ready." He didn't need Gerard to sing to hear him.

*

Mikey was showing Bob how to make peanut butter cookies--the necessary next step after sugar cookies--when Bob said, "Gerard and Frank seem to think I'm, um, being an insensitive prick."

Mikey tried desperately to suppress his horror. He said, "I'm sorry, you-- They've been through--"

"Hell, yeah, I'm more concerned that they might be right."

Mikey tried to reason that through but in the end all he could ask was, "What?"

"I-- When you, um, before, when you were...naked."

Mikey nodded.

"You wanted your brother, right? It was just-- You thought if you--"

"I'm sorry," Mikey said, and he meant it, meant it with every fiber of his being. "I shouldn't-- I didn't know any other way. It's not a system designed to instill trust, slaves and masters and--"

"I just, I just meant, that wasn't what you wanted. I wasn't what you--"

Mikey cut him off with a kiss, a soft, clumsy kiss, but a kiss. They both tasted like peanut butter. "You were. You were. I just didn't know."

"Mikey--"

"I know I'm just a slave--"

Bob hoisted Mikey up on the counter by his waist, and then pulled his neck down for a kiss that wasn't nearly so tentative, but was every bit as sweet. "Just nothing," he said, and then gave up words in favor of kissing Mikey into silence. Mikey knew the difference between an order and a suggestion, but this was one suggestion he was willing to take without a fuss.


End file.
